“There is a lot of suspense and the reader will be doing some
guessing. There is also eroticism here and I commend the author on
how he managed to work the themes so that everything comes together.
I could see that he spent time thinking this story out.”

Amos Lassen Reviews

“This is a thrilling, suspenseful mystery. His ability to spin
a tale of mystery, comedy and romance is obviously a talent that I am
really beginning to treasure. —fast becoming one of my favorites
writers of mysteries and the paranormal.”

Multi-tasking Momma’s Book Reviews

For Love of: Tangi

“A very entertaining read. I was cracking up because it
seriously was funny.”

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business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

EVEN THOUGH IT was still pitch black outside, Henry Ayala
tossed and turned in bed. No matter what he did, it was impossible to
get comfortable. Knowing he had to be out of his grandmother’s old
house in two weeks was plaguing his mind. So Henry threw off his
covers and hopped out of bed. After pouring himself some orange juice
and making toast, he looked around the small house. Everything but
the furniture had been packed up and put in storage. The buyers had
opted to pay extra for the furniture which was practically new.

What am I worried about? Henry thought. I received a huge
amount for this house because of the location and the acreage with
it.

At one-hundred-years-old his grandmother had lived a long, happy,
life and gone peacefully in her sleep. No one could ask for an easier
way to go.

“I need to get out of here before I start talking to the walls,”
Henry said to no one but himself.

After padding barefoot to the bathroom, he splashed water on his
face, then looked at himself in the mirror. His black hair had become
more salt-and-pepper in color, and he actually liked the way it
looked. But his thick eyebrows which matched in color, tended to
disappear in photographs because they were mostly white with only
some black.

“Hell, I’m better off than most, I guess. So I shouldn’t
complain.” He ran his hand through his thick hair then down his
trim and tight stomach. When he smiled he noticed tiny lines had
formed in the corners of his eyes. But he had no really significant
wrinkles yet.

Inspiration hit, and Henry decided to put on shorts, a T-shirt, and
sneakers, in order to go for a bike ride. Soon he was riding
alongside the back road the house was located on. It was a beautiful
day in central Florida—not too hot or cold. There was even a light
breeze, so Henry was able to relax and let his mind drift as he
pedaled.

No one in the family had known about the existence of his
grandmother’s second house. His grandmother had sold her other
house, the one everyone knew about, and moved in with his mother
after the death of his grandfather. She had not shared the
information about the second house with anyone—not even her two
daughters. The house and acreage had been left to Henry’s
grandmother at his grandfather’s death which had occurred only a
year earlier. In her will, his grandmother stipulated that the house
and land go to the oldest male grandchild, and that was Henry. Being
a struggling writer, Henry could definitely use the money. And none
of his cousins argued for a piece of the house, property, or funds
from the sale. They were well off and didn’t have time to deal with
taking care of the property or selling it.

Though he’d done quite a bit of traveling in his life, Henry wasn’t
familiar with Llaunvan, Florida. It was a somewhat small town between
two larger cities. Hikers loved using the numerous nature trails, and
the preserved downtown area and park hosted various festivals and
gatherings throughout the year. It was late September, but hadn’t
yet started to get cold—typical crazy Florida weather. While in
parts of the country people had already dug out their sweaters, Henry
was comfortable outside in short sleeves and shorts. Being outdoors
gave Henry a sudden rush of energy, and he turned onto the trail
leading to the historic downtown area. He’d just gotten off the
trail and onto the main street when he spotted a ‘For Sale’ sign.
There was a bright red arrow on it that pointed left. On impulse
Henry followed the arrow.

Something he’d once heard his film class teacher in college say,
popped into Henry’s head. Left hand turns or movements in films
usually signified something bad was coming, or rather the characters
were headed in a bad direction. Right turns symbolized a happy
ending. Henry had actually used that idea in a couple of his books.
But the ‘left turn thing’ was in reference to fiction not
reality—or so Henry figured.

More ‘For Sale’ sign arrows had led Henry down another left turn
and then he arrived at his final destination. He’d never seen
anything like it before. Located at the end of a street, it backed up
to protected park land. Although it was free-standing there were
buildings to the left of it and to the right, making it seem crammed
onto its lot. Still, the building dominated the street because it
jutted out in front. The dark gray stone building was
pie-shaped—narrow in front but wider in back. And it was
four-stories tall. The fact it was almost nestled into the tall trees
behind it, had kept the building fairly hidden from view. Something
about the structure spoke to Henry. Despite its sinister and menacing
look it seemed to draw him in.

Chapter 2

It Beckons

THE BUILDING, WHICH seemed more like a tall, stone tower,
beckoned Henry forward. He hopped off his bicycle and walked with it
toward the row of well-worn steps leading to the entrance.

Henry felt the air grow heavy and stale around him. It was hard to
breathe for a moment. When he inhaled deeply through his nose he
almost gagged on the smell. For a second he felt like vomiting but
coughed instead. He could almost taste what seemed like rancid piss,
sweat, and shit in the space around him. Death—it felt as if he
were surrounded by death.

“The corpses is what it is,” an old woman with long, wavy white
hair said, as she walked toward him. Dark—almost black—eyes shone
from a pale, wrinkled face. “Corpses—that’s what your senses
are picking up in the spirit, young man.”

“Not so young,” Henry said, and smiled. “I just turned fifty in
the beginning of this month.” The smells weren’t emanating from
the well dressed woman in front of him, who wore an ankle-length
floral print dress with a long, lightweight coat, and flats.

“Aw, fifty is young compared to some,” the woman said. “My name
is Olga Floria. You must be Hispanic. They age well.”

“My parents were born in Puerto Rico but raised in New York. I’m
a Florida boy—been here since I was four.”

“I haven’t seen you in town before,” Olga said. “Are you on
vacation?”

“Nope, I’m seeing to my grandmother’s estate. She passed away
and left me her house and acreage. I just sold it.”

“Not really,” Henry said. “My partner died two years ago, I
sold the place we co-owned, and moved into Grandma’s house for a
while—so I’m free as they say. What corpses?”

“I thought you’d almost forgotten about that,” Olga said. “This
building housed a mortuary for a while… a long time ago.
Spiritually aware people can sometimes pick up on the building’s
past.”

“There’s more to this place than just that, isn’t there?”

“Much more,” Olga said. “You’ve picked up on that fact, I
see.”

“I’m a writer,” Henry said, “maybe I see too much
sometimes—mostly in my imagination. I hear a slight accent in your
voice, Olga. Where are you from originally?”

“Romania,” Olga said. “I came here when I was just a small
child, but a little of the accent remains.”

“Have you been inside this place?” Henry pointed to the building.

“Not since I was much younger. It’s too dark a place and I’m
too old a woman.” She smiled. “There’s an open house today so
the building is open.”

“Should we be brave and go in?” Henry said, and smiled.

Olga chuckled before replying. “Why not—let’s do it.”

“Let me just park my bicycle first,” Henry said.

The smells from earlier suddenly swooped down on Henry, almost
encapsulating him as he walked his bicycle to the side of the stairs.
A barking dog startled him as it emerged from the shadows, followed
by a hunched figure with a blanket over his shoulders.

“He’s all noise and no bark,” the old man said to Henry as he
scratched his long, scraggly beard.

“That’s good to know,” Henry said, eyeballing the white dog.

“There’s a pole in the corner you can chain your bike to—me and
Shylo will keep watch over it for you.”

Henry reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, got a five
and handed it to the old man.

“This is for watching my bike for me,” Henry said. Suddenly the
old man’s dirty, bony hand clutched his hand. Long, unnaturally
curving, yellow fingernails wrapped themselves around his palm like
talons. Something felt very odd about the situation and the old
beggar man.

“Welcome, boy,” the old man said, then laughed and let go of
Henry’s hand.

After chaining his bike to the pole, Henry waved to the old man then
walked away.

“I don’t think the sprits of dead people or corpses is what I
smelled earlier,” Henry said to Olga when he was back at her side.

Olga laughed. “You’ve met the old soldier and his dog.”

“Soldier?” Henry said.

“He was in uniform, wasn’t he?” Olga said.

“I don’t know. He had a thick, gray blanket on over him. It’s a
shame for a former soldier to be living like that.”

“Some folks wouldn’t really call it living,” Olga said.

“I suppose not,” Henry said. “There but for the grace of God go
you or I. Well, shall we go in?”

“We shall,” Olga said, then took Henry’s arm and they walked up
the front steps.

The front doors were extraordinarily high, going way above Henry’s
head, and he was six feet tall. Henry opened the door and they went
inside.

“Hello,” Henry said, but no one answered. He took advantage of
the moment and looked around from where he stood.

The center of the building was open to all four floors. A wide
central staircase made of what looked like shiny black marble took
center stage in the open space. Wrought iron railings painted black
went around the open hallways of each floor from the second to the
fourth.

“I love the tile work in here,” Olga said.

Black and white tiles in a checkerboard pattern covered the floor in
the immense, open entry room. But the closed, tall, wood shutters
against the back wall caught Henry’s attention.

“One of the owners of Lowden Hall was originally from New Orleans,
and had the shutters, iron work, and tiles added right before he and
his new bride moved in,” a woman said as she walked their way.
“Hello again, Henry.”

“Hello, Cecily,” Henry said, then turned to Olga. “Cecily
Kenley was my real estate agent when I sold Grandma’s house.”

“Nice to see you again, Olga,” Cecily said. “What made you
finally decide to venture inside Lowden Hall again after so many
years?”

“Cecily and I are old friends,” Olga said to Henry before turning
to Cecily. She admired the Realtor’s pale blue suit and matching
heels. “I used to wear high heels all the time when I was young
like you.”

Henry looked at Cecily, who was a black American whose family
originally came from Kenya. The Realtor had a short, black, bob
hairstyle and nice makeup. She was middle-aged and attractive with a
petite figure.

“Thank you for the compliment, Olga,” Cecily said, then smiled.

“It was time,” Olga said as she walked around the immense hall.
“The time had arrived for me to come inside and face what happened
here.”

Chapter 3

Loss

“I ONLY JUST GOT here a few minutes before you two walked
in,” Cecily said. “My assistant, who was supposed to have opened
the shutters and set up a table with refreshments, just called in
sick.”

“People will do that when it comes to this place,” Olga said.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Cecily said. “I’ve got to run to the
bakery one street over. Feel free to look around at leisure, Olga.
You too, Henry.”

“I’ll give you a hand with the shutters when you get back,
Cecily,” Henry said.

“Thank you,” Cecily said. “I appreciate that, Henry. Although,
I guess I’d better warn you that people in town think Lowden Hall
is cursed. If you feel like taking off I’ll understand.”

“We’ll be here when you get back,” Henry said. And I’ll let
anyone who happens to come by know that you’ll return soon.”

“Thanks,” Cecily said, then left the premises.

“Do you believe in curses, Olga?” Henry said.

“Yes and no,” Olga said, while she walked toward the stairs
followed by Henry. “As a Christian woman I should say that I don’t.
But I’ve seen and known angry men, and even angrier and spiteful
women. They would curse a saint. But would God allow someone to be
cursed—that’s the real question?”

They slowly walked up the grand staircase. Olga turned to look across
the area below when they’d reached the second floor. Henry looked
as well then spoke.

“It’s dark in here, but is that a black fireplace against the
back wall?”

“The entire back wall is a fireplace carved out of stone to look
like the open mouth of a dragon—teeth and all,” Olga said. “It
was put in when the first and second floor housed a curiosity shop.”

“Curiosity shop? What exactly is meant by that? Was it literally
the name of the shop?”

“Yes.” Olga sat on the floor for a moment and Henry joined her.
“It was something to see, Henry. The entry below us held giant
suits of armor, old mannequins, stuffed animals—of the real
variety—not the play toy types, and a large but portable Baroque
puppet theater. Oh, how I loved the theater! I almost forgot—the
fireplace surround was brought to the states from an old castle in
Europe.”

“The shop really must’ve been quite the place.”

“Yes, and that was before eBay and online selling—when real
treasures could be found in shops. An ex circus performer named Cosmo
owned the hall then—back in the fifties. He lived on the third
floor with a platonic male roommate who had a daughter and helped
around the shop. But apparently no one was around to help Cosmo when
he accidentally set fire to the building. The poor man dropped a
cigarette into a pile of flammable fabrics. All his wonderful
treasures went up in smoke.”

“And what happened to Cosmo?”

“He survived, but moved into an assisted living facility. His
beautiful red-haired cousin Emilie Constantine was given Lowden Hall
as an early inheritance from Cosmo. By then most of the walls on the
lower floor were black from the fire.”

“And Emilie didn’t try to paint them?”

“Oh no, she felt the black color should be accentuated and
maintained as part of the character of Lowden Hall. She said that her
goal in life was to inspire artists of all types, so Lowden Hall
became an artists’ retreat of sorts in the psychedelic sixties.
More like a commune filled with lots of highly-sexed young people,
and Emilie was the queen bee. But, I digress. The artists, under
Emilie’s guidance transformed the hall’s second floor rooms into
almost a maze of murals—but for the most part they took the color
black as their inspiration. They painted the downstairs black and
hung all sorts of mobiles, as well as displayed large art
installations. Quite a few of them were worth seeing.” She started
to get up and Henry quickly rose to his feet and gave her a hand.

“When was the mortuary housed here?” Henry said.

“In the twenties.”

Olga walked around to the left wing, and looked over the railing to
the floor below.

“Be careful,” Henry said. “You don’t want to accidentally
fall over the edge. We don’t know how sturdy the railings are these
days.”

“They’re plenty sturdy,” Olga said. “A few years ago someone
was going to redo the hall and turn it into shops or apartments. They
did an inspection, bought the place, and updated the electrical
wiring. That’s when my husband—Gheorghe—died. He was retired
already, but came in to help one of the electricians who was a
friend. Both my husband and his friend were electrocuted so strongly
and violently that they were thrown over the edge.”

“Violently?” Henry said. “Were they murdered?”

“No, but I figure the electrocution must’ve been strong enough to
hurl their bodies over the railing. No foul play was suspected.
Anyway, this is the first time I’ve been back here since even
before the incident.” She was silent for a few moments. “My
Gheorghe was a good man. After he died there were a few more fatal
accidents—I remember hearing about one worker falling down a secret
passage located on the fourth floor. He broke his neck and most of
his bones. But even in those days nobody ever ventured to the fourth
floor. The workman who died had told the other workers he’d heard
music coming from the fourth floor. Hearing the music should’ve
been his first warning not to go into the fourth floor rooms which
had been closed for years.”

“Why would music have been a warning? And where did it come from?”

“Everybody at that time had heard about Vivienne’s music box
and—”

“I’m back,” Cecily said from downstairs.

“We’ll be right down,” Henry said, then turned to Olga. “About
the music box…”

“That is a story for another day,” Olga said.

“Stay a few minutes if you need to, Olga. I’ll go help Cecily.”

“Thank you,” Olga said, “I will do that.”

Henry walked downstairs, and spotted Cecily setting up a folding
table. He helped her open it, then they covered it with a tablecloth,
and Cecily set out a box of assorted pastries and cookies. A jug of
lemonade and some plastic cups completed the refreshment display.

“You seem to be expecting at least a few interested possible
buyers,” Henry said.

“The curious will come out for sure. As for serious buyers, who
knows? The price is certainly right, as the seller is definitely
motivated. You’re not by any chance interested in buying a property
here?”

“A cursed one?”

“It might make an inspirational abode for a writer,” Cecily said.
“Lowden hall has worked its magic on all types of artists.”

“There is that,” Henry said. “I suppose we have to open the
wood shutters so the light can come in.”

“Yes, but I know what you’re thinking. It’s so much more
atmospheric as it is.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Henry said.

“I agree with you regarding atmosphere, but most buyers like to see
the space they’re interested in purchasing.”

They went to open the first set of enormous shutters, and Henry stood
back to look at them. The wood was worn and had several splattered
colors of light green on it.

“The color is amazing—like old copper when it gets a green
patina,” Henry said. “Beautiful.”

“I like the color too, but whoever buys the hall will probably
paint them white,” Cecily said. “The black rails will probably go
white too—that is the trend these days.”

“That would be criminal,” Henry said.

“You could purchase the hall yourself,” Cecily said as they moved
along to the next set of shutters.

“The hall costs less than half of what you got to keep from the
sale of your grandmother’s home and acreage. Renting space to other
businesses will help with the cost of electricity and other things.”

“What about converting some of the building into living spaces—like
apartments or lofts?” Henry said.

“That’s a very real possibility, and wouldn’t take much work or
investment,” Cecily said.

When Henry was opening the last set of shutters, a loose piece of
wood caught hold of his arm and scratched him. Henry raised his arm
to look at the injury. As he did so, blood began to fall in droplets
onto the stone wall between the shutters.

“You’re bleeding,” Cecily said. “Let me get a napkin and some
Neosporin from my purse.”

Henry watched his blood drip onto the gray stone, get suddenly sucked
into it, and disappear.

Cecily returned and wiped Henry’s arm with a wet nap, then applied
Neosporin to the wound. She looked around for red drips on the stone
but didn’t see any.

“Henry, did you wipe up the blood?” Cecily said.

“No, it… well it—I guess it got soaked up by the stone,”
Henry said.

“Now that’s one I’ve never heard in my years of being a
Realtor,” Cecily said.

“It’s the stones,” Olga said. “Almost the entire hall inside
and out is faced in blood stones.”

Chapter 4

Blood Stones

“BLOOD STONES DON’T sound like something that will help
me with the listing,” Cecily said, and chuckled as she put a
bandage on Henry’s cut.

“Probably not,” Olga said.

“Hello, is anyone here?” a man said as he walked in with a woman
by his side.

“The rocks used on this building are spoken of as blood stones,”
Olga said to Henry while they walked along the patio.

“Do the stones have some sort of absorbent quality? Is that why my
blood disappeared?”

“I don’t know about that,” Olga said. “But the stones have a
sordid and varied history.”

“Tell me more.”

“Blood stones earned their name because of having been structural
parts of sacrificial altars in different locations around the world.”

“What?” Henry said. “How would they have gotten so many
stones?”

“The original owner of Lowden Hall had a friend in Europe who sold
him the foundation stones cheaply. Apparently they came from a
sacrificial site in Greece that the locals had destroyed. That’s
why the stones were so inexpensive—the people wanted them as far
from them as possible.”

“Greece? This is a little wild. You’re from Romania, Cecily’s
family came from Kenya. Why would people move to this small Florida
town?”

“My family felt drawn here,” Olga said. “I’ve heard others
say the same about how they came to be in Llaunvan. But few know many
of the details regarding why their families chose this town. And I
have no idea what would’ve brought people here. Many artists
and performers have stopped by Llaunvan at different times to
perform. Even the circus came once a year.”

“Did all the stones come from the same supplier?”

“No,” Olga said. “In the nineteen twenties the architect who
redid Lowden Hall was also an archaeologist. He finished the
stonework using stones he found at old sites. They were also from
sacrificial sites as people were usually quick to get rid of them for
obvious reasons.”

“How was he able to bring the stones into this country—wouldn’t
that have been illegal?”

“Not necessarily back then. Besides, a friend once told me that the
archaeologist slash architect and designer was doing God’s work. In
my friend’s opinion the architect was dismantling ancient
sacrificial altars for the church.”

“Interesting,” Henry said. “This hall definitely has some
stories to share with the world, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe it’s just waiting for someone to write them down,”
Cecily said when she popped outside. “My guests took the cage
elevator up to explore the second floor. Excuse me, I think I heard
some other people enter.” She left again.

“She actually did have a point,” Olga said. “Some of the things
that occurred on the premises would definitely inspire the right
person, and might make for interesting reading.”

“The question is whether or not I’m the right person,”
Henry said.

“Exactly,” Olga said. “Just how intrigued are you by Lowden
Hall and Llaunvan in general?”

“I’m not really sure yet. Tell me about Vivienne’s music box.”

“To be completely honest I don’t know many details about Lowden
Hall just generalized stories. The same tales all the citizens of
this town have heard for years.”

“Are these stories more historical or fiction? Maybe a mix of the
two?”

“Who is to say for sure?” Olga said. “There are old photographs
of Vivienne’s music box in our downtown museum.”

“I didn’t even know there was a museum here. Most of the time I
was busy looking through things at Grandma’s house and dealing with
the closing.”

“The music box was very ornate and gold gilded. When the lid was
opened both a male ballet dancer figure and a ballerina would pop up
and dance in front of a lacey gold background covered with
semi-precious stones. The music it played was an original composition
written for Vivienne. It was a wedding present from her husband
Lucien Dumon.”

“Cecily said the Dumons had an architect or designer come in and
redo parts of the hall. What was his name?”

“Let me think for a moment,” Olga said. “He was from a French
family as was Lucien. Vivienne’s family was originally from France,
but she was born on her family’s island plantation. Ferrand was the
architect’s last name—Alphonse Ferrand—that was it. I always
forget his name. Alphonse and Lucien were childhood friends and
inseparable until Vivienne entered the picture.”

“Alphonse really must’ve been a good friend to have moved here
from France to help with the hall. Or was he living in New Orleans
too by then?”

“All three of them lived in New Orleans before moving here,” Olga
said. “They were all very beautiful. Vivienne was known for her
golden curls… as was Alphonse, funnily enough.”

“It almost sounds like—no—I don’t even want t say it out
loud,” Henry said. “Did they ever find the music box?”

“No, however their rooms or apartments were locked up after
Vivienne died. They’ve been left untouched after all those years. A
family member enters the Dumon apartments once a year to check on
things and see to the rooms. From what I understand, the fourth floor
looks like a museum.”

“Through all the owners of the hall those apartments were kept
intact?”

“It was always a condition of the sale,” Cecily said, as she
walked out with two plates holding cookies and pastries. She handed
one plate to Olga and the other to Henry. “So far mostly the
curious have come to look around today. Not one serious offer.”

“The day is still young,” Henry said.

“People are especially curious about the fourth floor apartments
you mentioned, Olga,” Cecily said. “The sole surviving family
member died last year, but the contract states only the next buyer
and the cleaning crew can open and look at the apartments now. Even I
haven’t seen them.”

“Wait a minute,” Henry said. “Was Lucien Dumon the owner of the
mortuary?”

“Yes,” Cecily said. “His father owned a mortuary in New
Orleans, and Lucien moved here to open his own establishment with his
new bride Vivienne.”

“I’d love to see their apartments,” Henry said.

“All you have to do is buy the hall,” Olga said.

“She said it, not me,” Cecily said. “Come on in and get
something to drink.”

Henry and Olga walked back inside with Cecily. After getting a drink,
Henry walked over to the far left wall and looked at the fireplace.
It wasn’t just the open mouth of a dragon but also its body. The
body portion wrapped around the wall beside the open mouth.

“He’s a work of art,” Henry said to Olga and Cecily. “The
carving of the stone is very well done, and he’s so shiny.”

“His eyes look menacing,” Olga said.

“Talk about conversation pieces,” Cecily said.

Some more people walked in and Cecily went to greet them. Olga and
Henry walked up to the group later and talked to them—they were
curious locals rather than buyers.

“Is it OK if I go up to the second floor and look around a little?”
Henry said.

“Yes,” Cecily said. “Enjoy yourself.”

“We’ll be up there in a bit to join you,” one of the locals
said to Henry.

Rather than use the stairs, Henry took the ornate cage elevator up to
the second floor. Once he was inside the first of the second floor
rooms, he was surprised to see wood boards covering the walls.

Could these boards possibly be protecting the original murals that
were done in the sixties? Henry thought.

He continued walking from one room into another, in what felt like an
endless straight line. Then he spotted a side room and went in there.
That led to another side room and soon Henry was lost.

Impossible, he thought. This place can’t be that big.
Turning in place to get his bearings just had the effect of making
him feel more lost than he did already. It doesn’t help that
they’ve kept the windows boarded up on this floor.

Suddenly he felt hot and dizzy. Trying to focus he looked up at the
ceiling and the multicolor, glass chandelier. It was shaking in
place, and then started hurtling down toward him.

There was no way he could move in time. The chandelier hit him on the
head and he fell to the floor. He put his hand to his forehead and
felt blood. More blood for the hall’s stones. Henry realized he was
about to become Lowden Hall’s latest victim.

Chapter 5

The Calling

COLORS SWIRLED OVER his head with such brilliance they almost
blinded Henry. He tried to shield his eyes, but could still see the
bright, gem-like colors. His only response was to groan loudly.

“It’s alright, Henry. You’ll be fine, Henry.”

The voice speaking to him was, soft, comforting, gentle, and had the
slightest French accent.

“The old woman I knew back home told me you’d come one day.”

“Did she?” Henry said groggily.

Long, golden curls cascaded from the woman’s shoulders onto Henry.
Somehow he knew she smiled at him, although he couldn’t see her
face.

“That’s Mr. Ayala,” the woman said to her son. “Don’t
be overly familiar with your elders.”

“Aaaa!” Henry said, and shut his eyes tightly. “Go away! Go
away!

The lights from the chandelier felt warm, but too bright above his
closed eyelids, forcing Henry to open his eyes. When he did so he
found himself surrounded by barely clad women who wore frightful clay
masks. They did a frenzied dance around him, waving their arms around
wildly while thrusting their hips, and stomping barefoot around the
room.

The women disappeared, to be replaced by a slender but athletic male
dancer who leapt into the air, landed on one foot, and began to spin.
He was dressed in a pale blue Hussar uniform featuring a tight dolman
jacket with a loose pelisse over-jacket. Henry knew what it was
because he had worn a similar costume in a school play years ago. But
he didn’t wear it with revealing tights like the dancer wore.

While Henry watched, the dancer spun round and round while making his
way toward him. The long stray strands of the dancer’s pale, blond
hair and ponytail flew in the air as he danced. Henry wanted to move
but was held still by the man’s mesmerizing, clear blue eyes.

“You’re new,” the dancer said when he was by Henry’s side
spinning like a top. “Help me, please. Do you think you can help
me?”

“Help you what… or how?” Henry said.

“I’m not dead,” the dancer said, “not dead.”

After smiling, the dancer jumped onto Henry’s chest and spun
rapidly. As the handsome man spun, Henry screamed. Little by little
the dancer’s feet bore into Henry’s chest. The pain grew more
intense as the feet cut through flesh.

“Stop!” Henry said, crying while blood spurted out from his
chest.

But the feet dug in, and the dancer kept spinning faster and faster.
Henry’s screams echoed through the room, then he heard it. A soft
melody began to play and distracted him from the pain at hand. He
turned his head and saw the pretty, blonde woman who had been first
to speak with him. This time she held a gold music box while she
danced his way smiling.

“Help,” Henry said, and stretched his arm and hand toward her.

“Help,” the woman repeated before setting aflame before his eyes.
The fire disappeared, and the woman—now a burnt, blackened creature
continued walking his way still smiling.

Henry covered his eyes with his arm and screamed.

Someone moved his arm away from his face. The woman in black with the
kids stood directly to the side and over him, while the dancer still
spun on his chest. She spoke to Henry in a raspy whisper

“Say that you will, write all of our stories, Mr. Ayala—end this
nightmare and agree to tell what needs to be told.” She
disappeared.

“I’m not dead,” The dancer said, then reached down into Henry’s
chest, yanked his heart out, and held it aloft while it was still
beating.

Again Henry screamed and turned his head. The burnt woman was beside
him now.

“No one here believes they’re dead,” the woman said.

Closing his eyes tightly Henry screamed as loudly as he could, then
reared upward in a sudden movement.

“You’re OK now, Henry,” Olga said.

Henry opened his eyes, and found himself surrounded by Olga, Cecily,
and the local man and woman from earlier.

“And there’s no chandelier in this room,” Cecily said, while
applying a damp napkin to Henry’s forehead. “Drink some of this,
it’s a new bottle.” She helped Henry drink from a bottled water
container.

“How long have I been out?” Henry said.

“Not long,” the female local said. “We came up right behind
you. I think you triggered a secret passage.”

“You must’ve stumbled and lost your footing when the passage
opened—it was just a wall before,” the local man said. “And it
is hot in this room. We should probably get him out of here and to a
cooler area.”

As they helped him up, Henry turned to Olga.

“The warning sign, Olga. I heard the warning sign.”

“What warning sign?” Olga said.

“It was so lush and romantic a melody she played for me.”

“Who did?” Cecily said.

“Vivienne—it had to be her,” Henry said. “It was the melody
from her music box I heard calling me.”

The large, male local had his arm around Henry to support him as he
walked.

“I’ve been called here,” Henry said. “Called to tell their
stories and let others know the suffering they endured in this cursed
hall.”

Chapter 6

Taking Ownership

SEVERAL DAYS LATER, Henry drove to a local eatery in order to
meet an old, longtime friend of his that was visiting.

Natalie Lane sat in The Llaunvan Café and listened to her friend
Henry Ayala talk about what had happened to him at Lowden Hall. She
took a bite of her cinnamon roll, and looked at the excited
expression on Henry’s face.

“Cecily gave me two days to make certain I was completely well
before she gave my offer to the owners of Lowden Hall,” Henry said.
“They accepted the offer quickly, and I closed on the place late
yesterday. Apparently they wanted to make sure I didn’t change my
mind and back out at the last minute ”

“Does that mean I get the grand tour today?” Natalie said. “I
did drive almost two hours from Jacksonville to come here.”

“As if you had anything better to do,” Henry said, and smiled.
“You did bring some luggage I noticed.”

“And when did you notice that?” Natalie said.

“I got here after you and walked by your car on my way to the front
door—”

“Of course not, dummy. I came to see the hall in person. I’ve
been curious about it since you told me about your somewhat sudden
purchase on the phone. And that was before you just mentioned the
vision or dream you had when you were unconscious on the floor.”

“See the hall is about all we can do for now I think,”
Henry said. “I haven’t even been in the living quarters yet.”

“Going into that area of the hall should be interesting to say the
least. You might find enough valuable goodies in those apartments to
make your investment worthwhile.”

“Right now I’d settle for a comfortable bed. The one in my hotel
room is lumpy.”

“Did you have time to look up any of the people from the vision you
had to see if they’re real or rather were real?” Natalie
said as she brushed her long brown hair behind her ear.

“No, but I could guess the identities of a few of them. The pretty
blonde with the music box had to be Vivienne.”

“She may have started off ‘pretty’, but charcoaled skin
isn’t a great look on a gal.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Henry said. “And I’d prefer not to
remember that part. The original owner of Lowden Hall and his wife
had several kids, so I’m guessing they were the ones I saw dressed
in black. The marionette was probably connected to the puppet theater
owned by the ex circus performer who had the curiosities shop.”

“So what do you think happened to you when you were out cold
and lying on the floor?” Natalie said.

“It’s hard to say, Nat. Normally I wouldn’t think I had that
susceptible a mind. Although a lot of times I have had dreams related
to the last thing I heard, talked about with someone, or even watched
on TV.”

“You do have a healthy and detail-oriented imagination. But you
don’t usually make rash decisions. So you must’ve had a reason
for buying Lowden Hall.”

“I do. The place definitely has stories to tell. Besides, I always
felt I needed a hook to draw people to my novels. Maybe the hall can
be that hook.”

“Your novels are well written and interesting—isn’t that all
that matters?” She drank some of her juice then daintily wiped her
mouth with a napkin.

“You put on the red lipstick today and dressed up,” Henry said to
change the subject.

“It felt like an occasion,” Natalie said. “And I don’t wear
my Chanel lipstick and best suit for just any old meeting. You
probably didn’t notice I’m even wearing heels.”

“Wow,” Henry said somewhat sarcastically, then smiled and changed
the subject once more. “Being a good writer doesn’t seem to
matter if people can’t find you in a flooded market. Being Lowden
Hall’s new owner might just bring me some much-needed attention.
Lord knows my bank account can use an influx of cash.”

“It’s not like you’re poor, Henry. Since Mack died you get
money from his estate or whatever. Your grandma’s place sold for a
good bundle since she had all that acreage. And the hall didn’t
cost you much—being cursed and all.”

“Thank you for putting things in perspective.” Henry was being
sarcastic again, but then he felt bad about his comment and smiled.

“Sarcasm noted,” Natalie said. “But, that’s why I’m here
actually—to help you put things in perspective, so to speak. You
might be onto something with the hall. It can be a good draw if you
handle things correctly. We’ll need to start a blog about the
place—making sure to highlight all the spooky stuff. Maybe you can
rent out the bottom space for parties-proms, weddings, and the like.”

“I knew there was a reason I was glad you were coming. But what
about things back home for you?”

“My divorce from Jake was finalized a month ago, remember. I
finally moved out of our place and put my things in storage. I’m in
the mood for a change of pace. And being your estate manager should
fit the bill.”

“Estate manager—when did I make you the estate manager?”

‘You did tell me on the phone that you needed time to focus on your
writing, did you not?”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’ve already got a lead on some possible renters for the second
and third floors.”

“There’s a basement where the mortuary was housed,” Henry said.
“I’m not sure how to go in there yet. People enter the hall
proper through a large entry room that’s more of an open space
that’s sort of like a courtyard. There are shutters but no glass
windows along the back.”

“Hmm,” Natalie said. “Strange. Is it all French doors or
something?”

“No. Well, there are doorways but the shutters sort of act like
doors. Otherwise the place is open to the elements.”

“What about rain coming inside the building?”

“There’s a very wide cement porch around the back and an
overhang. It would have to be extremely windy for rain to come all
the way inside.”

“I’m having a difficult time picturing it. The hall sounds almost
gothic with all the stonework, but the inside sounds like it’s
built around an indoor courtyard.”

“Because that’s pretty much how it is. I should mention there is
a roof over the whole building. By that I mean the courtyard isn’t
open to the sky above.”

“How do you cool and heat a building like Lowden Hall?”

“There’s not much you can do in the ‘courtyard’ but the rooms
or apartments are self-contained. I’m told some of them have
fireplaces and fans. And central heat and air.”

“What? How—when?”

“Remember I told you that my new friend Olga’s husband was
electrocuted and died in the hall.”

“Yeah.”

“That was only a few years ago. Someone bought the hall and had
updated it with modern central heat and air in the upper floors.”

“So we won’t have to sweat it out on the fourth floor then,”
Natalie said. “Or freeze our butts off in winter.”

“Wow—moving in—that’s a big assumption on your part, Nat.”

“I’m trying to be nice here,” Natalie said. “You said you
were low on cash, so I figured until we get most of the hall rented
out that I would take a free room as part of my salary.”

“That is so nice of you,” Henry said sarcastically.

Henry and Natalie looked at each other and laughed.

“This is gonna be an adventure, isn’t it, Henry?”

“I think so, Nat.”

“We’ve both finished eating, so where to now, boss?”

“The museum where I promised to meet Olga after breakfast, then the
hall.”

Since it was only a short two blocks away, they decided to walk to
the museum. Henry laughed when he saw the stiletto heels Natalie
wore.

“Not the best shoes for walking in,” Henry said.

“I wanted to make sure I looked the part of an estate manager,”
Natalie said, then straightened out the peplum of her pink jacket.
Did you notice that I’ve lost ten pounds? Now maybe I’m
plus-sized and not fat.”

“You look good,” Henry said. “It will be fun having a roomie to
share this experience with and run screaming to if any ghosts come to
visit.”

At the end of a row of attached shops was the museum. Its exterior
seemed to blend in rather than stand out or demand attention.

“I would’ve missed the place, it looks so plain outside,”
Natalie said. “It has the same brick exterior as the other
storefronts, and not much of a sign.”

“They probably have some restrictions on how people can advertise
their businesses, since this is a historic downtown district,”
Henry said.

That makes sense, I suppose,” Natalie said.

Henry opened the museum door for Natalie and walked inside after her.
He gasped when he saw what was gracing the entrance.

Chapter 7

Direct Encounter with the Past

VIVIENNE DUMON STOOD directly in front of Henry in all her
glory. She was dressed in a long satin dress with a sheer overskirt,
had a tiara and trailing veil, and held the gold music box. Her long
golden curls hung loose to her shoulders. Henry was frozen to the
spot.

“The sculptor did a spot on job with her, didn’t he?” a young,
tan man with short, black hair wearing a suit and bow tie said as he
walked up to Henry. “I’ve seen her before too.”

Henry turned to look at the man, who at the oldest couldn’t have
been more than thirty.

“I’m Henry Ayala—this wax figure looks just like the Vivienne
in my vision.”

“We sent the sculptor numerous photographs of Vivienne, whom we
wanted to make the focal point of our humble museum. I’m Lawrence
Staunton.”

“Ugh,” Lawrence said, then made a disgusted look and rolled his
eyes. “It was horrible. I didn’t sleep for days afterward. My
poor husband had to put up with me screaming and grabbing hold of him
when I had nightmares after the encounter.”

“How exactly did Vivienne die?” Henry said.

“Let me guess,” Natalie said. “She was in a fire of some sort
and got burned up.”

“Nice way of putting things there, Nat,” Henry said.

“She’s not far off the mark,” Lawrence said. “Vivienne was
trapped in the mortuary when it caught on fire. Poor thing really did
burn to death.” He shook his head and shivered. “Gives me chills
just thinking about it.”

“She really was beautiful,” Natalie said, as she looked at the
wax statue of Vivienne. “I’m surprised her hair was so long in
the twenties.”

“Not every woman cut her hair short back then,” Lawrence said.
“Some rolled their hair under, in order to do a sort of faux bob.”

“Bingo,” Henry said. “I had to promise Vivienne I’d tell her
story first.”

“She is the most well known of the hall’s ghosts, and a bit of a
blabbermouth,” Lawrence said.

“I’ve got to see the Egyptian’s dress,” Natalie said. “I’m
sure Olga would wait for us.”

“I can take you straight to it, and if we hurry it won’t take but
a sec.,” Lawrence said.

“What the heck,” Henry said. “Lead on.”

They quickly followed Lawrence into the museum. There was no time to
focus on any of the things they passed as they were in a rush. When
they got to the Egyptian’s dress Natalie gasped loudly.

“Oh my God it’s so glamorous,” Natalie said.

In front of them was a knee-length dress covered in black and gold
sequins. The bodice had a daringly low V-neck that was sheer except
for strategically placed black and gold beads. In her hand the
mannequin held a large, feathered fan with a carved, gold handle. A
black and gold beaded headpiece, and low heeled shoes completed the
look.

“The Egyptian was a very glamorous woman,” Lawrence said. “Check
out the super low back of the dress.”

Natalie and Henry looked at the back of the dress which plunged
nearly below the butt.

“Who exactly was the Egyptian?” Henry said.

“She was Alphonse Ferrand’s girlfriend and one-time fiancée,”
Lawrence said. “Her name was Mariah Elmasry. Mariah’s last name
is actually Arabic for ‘the Egyptian’.”

“You are absolutely correct,” Lawrence said. “Mariah was
somewhat of an archaeologist herself. Although she didn’t agree
with sending so many of the stones they found here to the hall.”

“Even though the stones were cheap wouldn’t it have been
expensive to ship them here,” Natalie said.

“The original guy that shipped the stones felt it was his Christian
duty to get the cursed stuff out of Europe for free,” Henry said.

“The Catholic church did a good job of convincing the man to ship
them for free,” Lawrence said. “Later, the man’s son continued
the tradition because of what happened on the ship The Aphrodite
Resplendent.”

“What happened?” Natalie said.

“I’ll share that story once Henry’s finishes telling the hall’s
tales,” Lawrence said.

“Naming a ship after a Greek Goddess doesn’t seem like something
a devout Christian would do,” Henry said.

“Aphrodite was the name of the shipowner’s wife,” Lawrence
said.

“Hello, is anyone here?” Olga said from the entrance of the
museum.

“Coming,” Henry said. “How much do we owe you for the tour,
Lawrence?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lawrence said, as they walked back to
the front. “Maybe you can return the favor by giving me a tour of
the hall’s fourth floor one day.”

“Gladly,” Henry said.

Olga was dressed in a long skirt and top with flats. She also wore a
wide-brimmed hat. Henry introduce her to Natalie before turning to
Lawrence.

“Why don’t you come with us now to see the hall, Lawrence?”
Henry said. “If the boss will let you take a lunch break.”

“I am the boss and owner,” Lawrence said. “Maybe my husband,
who’s retired, will swing by and watch the place for a while. Let
me make a quick call.”

While Lawrence was on the phone the others engaged in small talk.

“Well?” Henry said, when he saw Lawrence put his smart phone
away.

“I can go!” Lawrence said. “My sweet, wonderful husband told me
to go ahead and that he’ll be here in a few minutes to mind the
museum. He was born in Lowden Hall, you know.”

“Actually I didn’t know,” Henry said.

Lawrence looked at Olga, who responded. “We didn’t get around to
talking about your husband.”

“My husband’s mother was a member of the artist’s colony that
lived in the hall during the sixties and seventies,” Lawrence said.
“She literally gave birth to Morris on the second floor of the hall
in one of those blow up kiddie pools. Heck to this day Morris doesn’t
know which of his mother’s two lovers was his biological father. He
called them both daddy till they died.”

“Which lover did his mother live with the longest?” Henry said.

“The three of them met at the hall and became an instant threesome
for the rest of their lives,” Lawrence said. “I told Morris not
to get any ideas from his wild mother where we’re concerned. Two is
the perfect number for us.”

“We’d better head out,” Henry said. “Cecily will already be
at the hall with the keys.”

They all left the museum and Lawrence locked up.

“Our cars are still at the café,” Natalie said to Henry.

“They’ll be fine there,” Olga said. It’ll be faster to just
walk to Lowden Hall from here.” She crossed the street, and the
others followed along trying to match her quick pace.

“Oh my gawd I am so excited!” Lawrence said. “You don’t know
how much it means to me to be getting a tour of the fourth floor of
the hall. The museum is always open to you for research day and night
free of charge, Henry.”